Of Wands and Dragons
by ArcticJacs
Summary: Gadea Rowan Ollivander loves working at her father's shop, and she can't imagine a single thing that could ever lure her away. Until a certain dragon keeper walks right through the door, that is.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! I've been playing around with this idea for a while, and I couldn't resist posting the first chapter. I don't have that much written already, but I wanted to put out the first chapter and see what you guys think. It's been a while since I've seen or read any of the Harry Potter stuff, so I apologize if something's off._

 _Enjoy! And let me know what you think?_

* * *

 **August 26th, 1993**

Ollivander's wasn't _just_ a wandshop.

It didn't look like much from the outside in. The three-storey building was built out of painted wood, and it looked a bit crumbly and flaked on the edges. The window was wide, allowing for a good peek into its bowels, but in dire need of a good cleaning around the edges. _It adds character_ , the Ollivanders said when pressed about whether or not they were looking into remodelling, _it wouldn't feel quite the same if they did._

The shop faced the street in an unassumingly arrogant way, a contradiction in itself, which was indeed fitting – the Ollivanders needn't sell themselves, everyone knew who they were, and, most importantly, knew what they offered. Nevertheless, peeling gold letters over the door read: _Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.._

Walking into the shop was an experience in itself. Magic liked it in there, and it wrapped every newcomer in a vibrant warm blanket. It was a place of possibilities, where every wizard could find (or be found) by the perfect conduit for their magic: a wand.

Though the Ollivanders worked with a wide range of wood, they prided themselves in offering only three distinctive wand cores: Unicorn Hair, Phoenix Feather, and Dragon Heartstring. Any mention of Wampus Hair or Occamy Scales (or any other possible wand core, really) was strictly prohibited – they were merely pale imitations of what wand cores should really be, and the Ollivanders would not stand for it.

Any wizard worth their salt knew that what Ollivander's lacked in product variety, they made up in quality. They had centuries of examples to back up their claim. Nothing else would do. And that, as they say, was that.

Boxes upon boxes, stacked precariously up to the ceiling, filled the shabby old shelves. The cases were long and thin, just big enough to cushion their mighty contents inside. Thin pieces of parchment, scribbled with barely intelligible writing, were glued on the short sides of the long shapes.

The store owner's daughter hung from the steep ladder, one foot in the air and a hand reaching up into the upper right corner. Her blonde hair, once held by a loose bun, framed her face in loose strands. Sharp pale cheekbones caught the light of the candles, teeth flashing as she worried her lower lip.

Restless pale eyes jumped from box to box, hands fluttering in their wake. She huffed out a breath of air, just barely managing to get rid of the strands teasing her eyes. Her free hand flicked in a frustrating manner, and with a mumble and a groan, the ladder beneath her slid towards the far end.

Hanging just barely from the tips of her fingers, shuffling through dusty boxes filled with wands, Gadea Rowan Ollivander –"Just call me Rowan _,"-_ felt right at home.

Which surprised no one, least of all her father. Garrick Ollivander had stumbled upon his daughter's sleeping form, surrounded by stacks of his wands, more times than she'd ever care to admit.

Rowan's hand stopped on top of a box. It was one of the newer ones, not quite worn by time just yet. _Redwood and Unicorn Hair, ten inches, somewhat bendy._ She glanced back towards the front of the store, zeroing in on the boy: just turned eleven, shuffling in place with nervous energy – and pushed back the box into the shelf. That wasn't the one.

Rowan let out yet another frustrating breath. She didn't know why she was having so much trouble with the wands today. There was an edgy energy in the shop, and she couldn't figure out if it was the wands or if it was all in her head. She just couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming – there was change in the air. And she didn't like it one bit.

She took one last look at the boy, determined to choose the wand she knew he deserved. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

Next thing she knew, her hand flickered towards the left, and the ever-handy (old and in dire need of oiling) ladder slid in the same direction. Her hand drifted over the boxes. Unicorn hair, she was sure of that. The wood, however…

Larch, hazel, spruce, sycamore, poplar, maple-

She paused, hand drifting back a box.

 _Poplar and Unicorn hair, eleven inches, slightly bendy._

Ah, this was the one.

She scrambled down the stairs, barely looking as she shuffled past stacks of wands. The box opened easily, and with a care Rowan rarely showed anything else, she held the wand in her hands as she presented it to the boy.

The boy stared down at the wand, eyes big as saucers.

His father, shooting Rowan an amused look, placed a hand on his boy's shoulder.

"Go on, Jer," he said. "Give it a go."

Clumsy hands picked up the wand.

It was instantaneous, as it always was. Jerome's robes fluttered, pushed by a breeze that left everything else untouched. Warm magic filled the air, and Rowan couldn't help the smile. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of a well-cared wand choosing its new master.

"'If you seek integrity, search first among the poplars,'" Rowan said, smiling down at the awe-struck boy. "Or so my great-grandfather used to say. It's a good wand, Jerome. It'll take care of you."

A smile split the boy's face. "Thank you, Miss Ollivander."

"You're welcome. Have fun at Hogwarts, yeah? And say hello to McGonagall for me."

"Sure!"

Jerome's father paid for the wand, and with one last enthusiastic smile, boy and father left the shop on their way to purchase a new set of first-year robes. Rowan watched them go fondly – she was watching the start of a new adventure.

"The wands are feeling restless," said a new voice, promptly interrupting Rowan's contented thoughts.

Garrick Ollivander, the shop's owner and proud father of two, slowly made his way down the stairs. His hand held unto the bannister – a recent habit. He was getting old, and it annoyed him quite a bit.

Rowan was leaning on the counter beside the cash register, arms braced upon the warm wood as she watched the world walk by. Witches and wizards from all over the world ambled their way down the cobbled stones of Diagon Alley, and Rowan watched with interest as the hordes of kids ran outside, undoubtedly excited for the start of a new school year.

She didn't turn to look at her father, but at his words, a shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. _At least it wasn't just her_ , she thought. _He'd felt it too._

Garrick stopped a few steps from reaching the ground floor and took a moment to look at his daughter.

Ollivander's had started as a family business, and it had been so for a great number of years. Wandmaking was a lot more difficult to learn than most thought, including, of course, the twits managing that little (illegal) kiosk down in Knockturn Alley. Wandmaking required a certain knack; a knack that Ollivanders had in excess. It could only be taught to a certain extent, the rest, well, it was all skill.

A skill Rowan had in spades.

Rowan might very well be the best wandmaker the Ollivanders had seen as of yet. She didn't know it still. _And,_ Garrick thought, _she wouldn't believe it if he told her._ She'd have to discover it for herself.

He'd known it from the first time he'd brought the toddler to the shop. She'd shuffled to the very back of the room, still stumbling over her own two feet, pulling Garrick along. She'd made him carry her, and then reached for her very own wand.

She'd barely known how to walk. Garrick still wondered if she'd even known what wands were at that point. But she'd known which one was hers the moment she stepped into the shop. No hesitation, no questions. He'd never seen anything like it.

 _Hornbeam and Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches, pliable._

That it was hornbeam was, at least for Garrick, utterly fascinating. Hornbeam wands tended to choose witches and wizards with a single, pure passion. For that particular wand to have chosen Rowan at such a young age… he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse, but Rowan's fate had sealed from the moment she'd waddled into the shop.

He knew the feeling. Hornbeam ran in the family.

It was one of the main reasons the thought of retiring had become more occasional than not. Rowan had become an exceptional, grown woman. She loved the shop as much as he did. And perhaps it was time for her to take over. These days she did most of the work anyway. His bones weren't as they'd once been, and they tended to creak almost as much as the stairs did, as his son liked to tease.

It had been a surprise when the knack had skipped his first-born. Geralt loved wandmaking – he had, after all, grown up in the shop as well. But it wasn't his one true passion. That was all Quidditch. A first, for an Ollivander. It amused Arlene, his wife, to no end.

Geralt had been recruited by the Falmouth Falcons only last year. He was good, he'd boasted at the last family dinner that he'd make first team in no time. And then he'd proceeded to announce his plans to marry that girl of his.

Garrick had never heard his wife squeal that way before.

They were all happy for him, of course. But he'd also noticed how quiet Rowan had become after.

Arlene had assured him that all Rowan needed was a nice distraction. A boyfriend maybe. Garrick had insisted that that wasn't it. But when his wife had rolled her eyes and eventually pretended to agree with him, he'd known she was probably right.

He just preferred not to think about it.

Rowan took after her mother and thank Merlin she did. Garrick knew he was an ugly old bastard, but his wife was almost as beautiful as the day they met. Even though time had taken its toll, the lines of her face just made her look prettier when she smiled. However, Garrick found himself hoping that his daughter had more sense than Arlene. After all, his wife had married an ugly old bastard. And that just wouldn't do for his daughter.

The magic in the shop shivered, and Garrick frowned. Rowan's shoulders hunched, and he knew she could feel it as well. It put him well on edge.

The last time the shop had reacted this way, it had been only moments before Harry Potter had walked into his shop.

So, it really shouldn't have surprised him when a trio of redheads waltzed into the room.

He really should retire, he thought. If he retired, he wouldn't have to deal with Weasleys. And that was as good a reason as any.

* * *

Rowan watched Molly and Arthur Weasley amble into the shop, and only exhaled in relief when she confirmed the twins weren't with them. Instead, a crabby looking Ron dragged his feet behind.

"You really didn't have to come," Ron mumbled. "Harry and-"

"Ron Weasley, this is your first proper wand. We're obviously coming with you." Molly chided. "Now, chin up, and say hello."

Ron rolled his eyes but did as mum had asked. "Hullo Mr. Ollivander. Hi Rowan."

Rowan smiled back. She didn't know Ron well. She'd met him briefly on her sixth year. It had been his first, and she'd bumped into him in the middle of an abandoned hallway. He'd been lost, mumbling something about a prank and his brothers, and she'd escorted him back to his dorm room.

What had stood out to her, other than his apparent friendship with The Boy Who Lived, had been his wand. Quite a disastrous relationship, and Rowan hadn't even seen him use it once. Those twelve inches of ash and unicorn hair had not been meant for Ron. She'd always wondered where he'd gotten it, though she knew it had most likely been a hand-me-down from one of his numerous brothers. That was the thing with unicorn hair, and even ash for that matter. They would obey their first master, and no one else. A horrible combination for a young wizard to contend with.

She was almost relieved that he was finally here for a new one.

"Hello Garrick," Arthur said, smiling at Rowan's father. "Long time no see."

Garrick's bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "I thought your little girl would be the last of you."

Arthur laughed, and though Garrick didn't join him, Rowan knew he was amused. He pretended to be annoyed by the Weasleys, especially after that one incident with the twins. But Rowan knew his father thought the Weasleys were a good family, and he liked them very much.

"Ron's wand broke last semester. We thought we'd get him a new one."

Garrick frowned and directed his next words at the boy. "This is your first time getting a wand from me."

"It was my brother's old wand." Ron grumbled.

Garrick _harrumphed_ before turning towards his daughter. "Could you-"

Rowan was already moving. "On it."

She knew Ron's energy by now, and she knew what to look for. She didn't even have to climb the ladder this time. The warm buzz of magic took her to one the first shelves, and she scanned the boxes with her hands, waiting for the eventual pull of magic.

"How's business?" She heard Arthur ask.

"It's been good, Arthur," rumbled the best wandmaker in Europe.

What came next, however, surprised her.

"Although," he father paused for a moment. "I _have_ been having some trouble with some deliveries."

"Oh?" That was Molly.

Rowan didn't know what surprised her the most. That they'd have problems with deliveries (something she didn't know anything about) or that her father was confiding on anyone other than his wife.

"Our supplier for dragon heartstrings disappeared recently." Garrick continued. "I've had to change contractors. The last shipment, however, might as well have been cursed. Wherever these heartstrings came from…" he trailed off for a moment. "These dragons did not die naturally, that's for sure. I've a theory the market has been taken by poachers."

The pause that followed reminded Rowan that she was supposed to be looking for a certain wand. She continued her search but couldn't help but focus on the conversation at hand.

Molly cleared her throat. "You know, Charlie did mention something of the sort."

"He's a dragon keeper. In Romania." Arthur clarified.

And with those words, Rowan suddenly understood exactly why her father was confiding in the Weasleys. She'd forgotten about the dragon keeper. Not that it surprised her. After all, she'd long ago lost count of how many Weasleys there were. But Charlie had only been one year her senior, and they'd bumped occasionally. He'd left halfway through his sixth year, however, off to chase some dragons, or something of that sort. She hadn't heard anything else of him since.

Garrick, however, had remembered. And he thought he might as well get something out of the Weasley's visit.

"He did say something about dragons disappearing. They're all quite alarmed." Molly continued. "I'll send him an owl. Maybe it'll help."

"Thank you, Molly. I'd appreciate it." Garrick said. "How're you coming along, Rowan?"

Rowan had two wand cases in her hand. It could very well be either one of them. She brought them out to the counter, and motioned Ron over.

"Try them out."

Ron reached for the Willow first. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he said.

Three boxes, one from every direction, flew out at the same time, hitting Arthur on the head.

"Ron!" he said. "I really do hope you're doing better than that in school."

With a smile at Ron's sour face, Rowan handed him the fourteen-inch Ash wand, with a Unicorn hair core. This would be the one, she thought, feeling the air warm with magic and seeing Ron's hair pushed back by invisible wind.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Ron tried again, a lot less enthusiastically than before. But this time it worked, and the wand's empty boxy drifted up and away from the counter. Ron smiled. "I like this one," he said.

Rowan nodded. Ash tended to fit well with Gryffindors. It attracted all sorts of stubborn and courageous tendencies.

"Very well then," Arthur said as he paid Garrick. "We'll let you know if Charlie has anything to say on the matter. Thank you for your help, both of you."

"And say hello to Arlene!" Molly called out before departing. "I do miss her."

It was the right thing to say. Arlene would be forever Garrick's weak spot, and Rowan watched her dad smile almost fondly at the Weasley's backs as they took their leave.

"Well, that wasn't that bad," Garrick said, wryly.

"It's the twins, da." Rowan told him, grinning. "I'd tell you we should put up a sign, warn them off, but I suspect that'd be more effective than inviting them over for tea."

Garrick snorted. "That may very well be true. I'll be at the back."

At the workshop. Which reminded Rowan.

"You didn't tell me anything about the deliveries." She tried before her father wandered off.

He sighed, stopping in his tracks as he looked over. "I didn't think it'd be anything. But you're right, I should've told you. This shop will be yours soon."

He said the last part almost as an afterthought, but it sent a tingle of magic down Rowan's back. "Oh?"

Garrick sent her one last look, a slight smile creasing his weathered face, before he ducked through the door to the workshop.

Rowan couldn't help the excited laugh that left her throat. Ollivander's would be hers soon. And though not much would actually change -she already made and sold most wands, handled the money, and moved to the apartment on top of the shop right after graduation, - the very idea of it left her happier than she'd ever remembered being.

Ollivander's was, after all, the best place in the world, and she couldn't imagine a single thing that would ever entice her anywhere else.

The shop shuddered once more, magic rolling in waves as the wands shifted in place. Rowan brushed it off, too delighted at that moment to care too much.

She didn't know it yet, but change was definitely coming. And it was about to whisk her away.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey guys! I can't believe it's been two months since I posted the first chapter. Happy New Year to all!_

 _Whilst researching Charlie, I came across some stuff from the Harry Potter app game. Apparently there's a character named Rowan there as well! Somewhat annoying since I really don't want to change my OC's name. So I won't. Just know that they have nothing to do with each other. Just ignore the other Rowan, alright?_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **August 31st, 1993**

The sound of her father cursing drew Rowan's attention. As the door to the workshop was firmly shut, it could only mean that Garrick had just stumbled into something particularly unpleasant.

Rowan straightened from her previously leaning position - her forearms against the counter as she peered out the window. It was the last day of Hogwarts' summer holiday, and Diagon Alley was filled with families running last minute errands. She saw kids wandering around with their new robes, dragging along their textbooks, some with new brooms and bags of candy. Rowan had been flooded with a horrible bout of nostalgia, and she almost wished she could go back to those thirty-firsts of August, when she couldn't decide whether she was excited to see her friends again, or sad to leave the wand business behind.

It had been a particularly busy day, filled with kids who thought to leave their wands to the last minute. Rowan had run around, hands and head tingling as she searched for the perfect wands. Hours later, she still couldn't shake the prickles running up and down her back.

She'd enjoyed every last minute of it. The feel of the buzzing wands beneath her fingertips, the wide-eyed expressions of those eleven-year-olds, even the grateful looks of the older witches and wizards who'd damaged their wands somehow. Her father had worked on those, sending them over to her only if the wands had been beyond saving.

Another curse from the workshop, and Rowan finally gave in. It was almost time to close the shop, and the number of customers had dwindled down to nothing. With one last look at the window, and the magical world outside, she headed towards the workshop door.

What Rowan saw stopped her in her tracks. The smell reached her first- pungent, foul and _dead_. The light slanted in weird angles all over the room, thanks to the strangely shaped work lamps her father used to keep. Her father stood by his work desk, hands on his hips as he looked at the bloody tangled mess before him.

And it really was quite bloody. Clumps of _something_ littered his desk. The smell was almost as unpleasant as the sight.

"Da? What is that?"

"Dragon Hearts," Darrick said, and his voice, much like the hearts themselves, sounded very dead.

Rowan had worked with Dragon Heartstrings several times before, and she was quite sure they looked nothing like the mess on her father's table. Dragon hearts were bright red things, brimming with warm magic, and very much alive. Dragon essence never quite died. The energy lived on, and it was one of the reasons the Ollivanders had chosen Dragon Heartstrings as one of their three wand cores.

The mess on her father's desk looked like nothing more than dead hearts, shrivelled and old ones at that, and completely drained of magic. It was unnatural.

Darrick's face was scrunched up in disgust. "How _dare_ they. They've entirely- "

Darrick cut off mid-sentence, barely managing to grab on to the chair as the floor shook beneath him. Rowan wasn't so lucky. She stumbled over her own two feet, landing on her knees as she held onto the floor beneath her.

The shop shivered, rocking back and forth as waves of warm magic pulsed through the room. Something clattered from the second floor and Rowan winced, knowing exactly which stack of wands had just been knocked over.

A warm heartbeat later, the waves of magic receded, and Rowan carefully made her way to her feet, her eyes tracing the tense lines of her father's face.

"It's getting stronger," she said.

Garrick nodded, a quick sharp jerk of his head that betrayed his worry. "Let's just hope it won't get any worse. I'll check in with our neighbours, see if it was just us. You go look over the second floor."

Rowan watched her father go, knowing full well that the source of magic had been the wands themselves, and it was unlikely anyone else had felt it. It wouldn't hurt to check, but Rowan – and Garrick, for that matter, - knew very well that it was a quirk solely reserved for Ollivander's. The magic was sensing change. And it was coming soon.

With a weary sigh, Rowan made her way to the second floor. It overlooked the first, and she watched her father stroll past the front window. She turned her attention back to the mess before her. Rowan could fix it with a flick of her wand, but she wanted to check the wands first and make sure they weren't harmed.

A few minutes of work later her father came in. "Nobody else felt it," he called up the stairs, confirming Rowan's suspicions.

Kneeling on the floor, Rowan was running her hands over the fallen wands, making sure they hadn't been damaged. They were sturdy things, but she worried about the stiff wands. They tended to break a lot more easily than their counterparts. Her father busied himself on the first floor, picking up the odd fallen box.

Rowan heard the door open but didn't bother looking up.

"Shop's closed," she heard her father call out. "Come back tomorrow."

"Mr. Ollivander?" Said the new voice. Indistinguishable male. English. Filled the space quite nicely, which Rowan was surprised to notice. She couldn't quite shake the feeling of sudden familiarity.

Her father didn't respond, and Rowan wondered if he had ducked back into the workshop.

It didn't seem to deter the newcomer. "I hear you have a bit of a dragon problem."

Rowan sat up, frowning.

"And who are you?" Her father asked. "Although I suppose I could gather a guess. Weasley?"

Rowan peered through the slats of the bannister, zeroing in on the telling mess of red hair. It was a Weasley, alright. One she was familiar with, though she surprised herself thinking that this version was thoroughly improved.

At first glance, the man reminded Rowan of Charlie Weasley, were if not for the few, if very notable, differences. He'd shot up a few inches, and though he'd always been fit (he had been Gryffindor's seeker and captain, after all), he'd lost all the soft _boyness_ about him. Rowan struggled with the word, and only after quickly running her eyes over the broad shoulders and solid figure, she settled on _hard_. No longer the 17-year-old boy she'd last seen. He was all grown up.

A shock of red hair, just barely brushed back by a flick of his hand, tumbled and curled by the nape of his neck. Matching ginger stubble made his jaw appear a tad sharper. A splatter of freckles coloured his face, his skin tanned a shade darker than the rest of the Weasley brood. Probably all that time spent outside with the dragons.

"Charlie Weasley," he said, coming forward and offering her father his hand. "Dragon Keeper."

Rowan couldn't quite believe it. She thought back to her first real interaction with the Weasley boy. She'd been on her third year, and her father had finally convinced Dumbledore to let her work at the Hogsmeade shop on weekends. She'd been minding the till while Rodrick, the young man her father had employed as Hogsmeade's wandkeeper, dusted the back.

The door to the shop had pushed open, bringing in a blast of cold air quickly neutralized by the shop's heating charm. Her brother had strutted in, complaining about Snape's latest homework assignment, as Bill Weasley, his potions partner, nodded empathically beside him.

"Don't mind me, lil' sis," Geralt had said. "Just picking up some stuff."

Rowan had rolled her eyes, watching her brother brush past towards the workshop but saying nothing. The siblings didn't see each other much during school, mostly due to their different houses, but every once in a while, they went down to the shop to spend some time and do their homework. Rowan was fond of the afternoons she got to spend with her brother. He just tended to leave his stuff behind more often than not. He did just well enough to keep his place on the team, but if he kept leaving his homework behind...

Bill had shuffled in place, greeting Rowan with a slight smile while he waited.

The door had swept open again, and though the cold never reached her, Rowan burrowed further into her blue and silver scarf. Another redhead filled the doorway, shorter and younger than Bill, but not less known. Even as young as he was, Charlie's stints as a seeker had already made waves, and Geralt liked to boast time and time again of the winning streak they were on.

"Lewis got us a table at the Three 'Sticks," he'd told Bill.

"Just waiting on Geralt," Bill had replied.

Charlie's eyes had wandered around the shop, and Rowan had waited with apprehension until they finally settled on her. She'd watched his lips twitch, his blue eyes crinkling in amusement as they met hers.

"You're the girl who chased Fang around earlier this year," he'd said.

Rowan had wanted to groan at loud and melt until she was hidden behind the till. She was still quite embarrassed about her performance that first week. She'd gone off to ask Hagrid something, she couldn't even remember what, when she'd felt Fang brush her boot. She'd look down to find the young boarhound's slobbery mouth wrapped around her wand, before he'd dashed off with a toothy grin.

She'd run around after the mutt, cursing and stumbling as she tried to recover her wand, which Fang had treated as any twig. By the time she'd caught up with him, she'd been red in the face, both from the exertion and from the thought of how'd she looked like. Half the school had seen her, and she swore she wouldn't leave her wand in her boot ever again.

Rowan had fought back her blush and glared at the younger Weasley instead. "And you're the guy who fell into the lake."

That had happened only the week before. She'd stopped on her early walk to Hogsmeade and the shop, just having noticed the idiot flying over the lake on his broom. The idiot - Charlie Weasley - had been trying to stand up mid-air. He'd failed to notice the tree branches hanging over the lake, and as he'd been looking down at his feet...

At his splash, Rowan had hidden behind the closest tree, but she hadn't been able to muffle her bark of laughter. She'd had to wait for him to drag his drenched body back to the castle, muffling more of her laughter behind her hand.

Charlie's eyes widened even as a faint blush covered his cheeks. "So that was you." Surprisingly enough, a grin followed. "Alright, you win this one. What's your name?"

" _Gadea Rowan Ollivander_ ," her brother interrupted, "You're the best sister in the world!"

Rowan's eyes had zeroed in on the new broom he was carrying, a neat red bow hanging from the handle, and she'd groaned out loud before wrenching it from his hold. "Geralt! That's supposed to be your Christmas gift."

Geralt had grinned, pulling her into a half hug. "And it's amazing. Thank you."

Rowan shook her head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just forget you saw it, alright?"

"I'll try my best," he'd promised, heading towards the door. "Come on lads! Gonna need a few drinks if I'm to forget."

Geralt and Bill disappeared out the door. Charlie, only a few steps behind, had turned around, a smile still playing on his lips.

"See ya around, Gadea," he'd said.

"It's Rowan," she'd said, but he was already out the door, trudging through the snow.

Caught in her thoughts back in the shop, and trying to lean forward to catch a better glimpse of Charlie, Rowan accidentally elbowed the stack of wands she'd just looked over. They tumbled to the floor, making enough noise to alert the two men below.

Charlie's eyes snapped up, and Rowan's heart skipped a beat as their stares clashed. Much like that first time they'd met, a grin unfurled on his mouth, his eyes crinkling with sudden unrestrained humour.

"Gadea," he said. "Long time no see."

* * *

Charlie watched in delight as the flush spread across her cheeks.

He couldn't quite believe his eyes. It had been almost three years since he'd last seen Rowan, and she looked exactly the same. Sure, she was older. And she'd gained a few curves he tried not to appreciate too much, her father standing only a few feet away from him. But her eyes, which he'd always liked best, were still the same.

He'd never tell her, but Rowan was fairly easy to read from her eyes alone. Windows to the soul, and all that, and for some reason that fit Rowan better than most. Charlie found he rather enjoyed that; he thought it rather refreshing.

"Charles," she _harrumphed_. "It's Rowan. _Not_ Gadea."

Charlie's smile widened. "Sure thing."

He didn't mean it, and by the look in her face she knew it as well as he did.

Charlie thought back to the last time he'd seen her.

It had been his last day at Hogwarts, sometime halfway through his sixth year. He'd just been offered the opportunity of a lifetime: a dragon keeper apprenticeship. He was to leave school and start working with dragons immediately.

He'd been terribly excited, up to that last day of Hogwarts. He'd suddenly realized how much he'd miss his mates. His family. The school itself - even his professors.

And of course, Quidditch.

Lewis, his best mate right after his brother Bill, had spent the last few weeks chipping away at his resolve. He was happy for Charlie, he wanted the best for him, there was no doubt about it. Lewis had just wondered whether the best was a full education and Quidditch, rather than Dragons. Charlie couldn't quite blame him, after all, they _were_ talking about _dragon_ keeping.

Nothing could quite deter Charlie from his chosen path, however. Adventure was calling, and it was in Romania. Charlie's heart pumped faster just by the thought of it.

He'd made a list of sorts. Of things he had to do before he left. And by the time that last day of school had come around, he'd accomplished all but one.

Win one last Quidditch game. _Check_. Slytherin hadn't even seen them coming.

Sneak into the Forbidden Forest with Torvus. _Check._ The centaur had never been one for emotions, but the farewell had been downright sentimental.

Get drunk one last time on top of the astronomical tower with Lewis. _Check_. He'd remember those escapades fondly.

The list went on, and Charlie had had a grand time with it in those last few weeks. That is, up until that last item, the one thing that he'd been thinking about for a year but had gotten quite good at ignoring those last few weeks.

Charlie Weasley, who's been sorted into Gryffindor, who performed fearless stunts as a Seeker, who'd made it his life's goal to work with fire-breathing dragons, found that he couldn't quite gather enough courage to confront Rowan Gadea Ollivander, and kiss her like he wanted to.

The urge had come about a year before. He'd been patrolling the hallway, one of his prefect duties, when he'd come about a couple snogging behind a pillar. Nothing he hadn't seen before. He actually quite enjoyed teasing the red-faced kids mercilessly when he caught them. Unlike most of the other prefects he found it amusing, and went about breaking up snogging sessions good naturedly.

This time, however, the couple has taken him by surprise. Henry McGrath, a Gryffindor a year below his, and Rowan.

"Well, well, well," Charlie has said, dragging out the words. "If it isn't little Henry and my favourite Ollivander."

The boy was flushed. He had been clearly enjoying what he'd been doing, and he'd avoided Charlie's eyes while the rest of his face slowly coloured completely red.

Unlike Henry, Rowan might as well have been studying. Her breath was even, her skin pale as always, and for the life of him, Charlie wouldn't have been able to tell if she'd been annoyed by the interruption, relieved, or hadn't particularly cared either way.

Charlie concluded that the boy clearly had had no idea what he'd been doing. Because if Charlie had had Rowan pressed against him like that behind a pillar, a flush on her cheeks would've been the least of it.

Charlie's imagination had taken off from there, which took him by surprise. He'd always found Rowan attractive. Few didn't. She had a way about her, a confidence that only came from knowing exactly what she wanted to do and being good at it. It was appealing and intimidating all at once. _Especially_ when those lovely pale eyes of hers zeroed in on his.

But whatever pull she had had always been on the back of his mind, and Charlie hadn't given it much thought. Until then.

"Go on then," Charlie had said. "Off to your rooms."

Henry had scurried off immediately, tail between his legs, and didn't look back once. Rowan had watched him leave with a quiet scoff.

Charlie figured she hadn't been much impressed either. He'd watched her as she made her way down the hallway towards the Ravenclaw tower, and Charlie couldn't help but let his eyes linger.

"'Night Gadea." He'd said, and her head had snapped back to look at him. "Sweet dreams."

And there it was. Red spread across her cheeks. Her scowl met his grin, and with a flick of her hair she'd turned back around before storming right off.

On his last day almost one year after that particular revelation, he still hadn't done anything about it. He'd barely known her. She'd never given any indication of wanting to get to know him any better either. She'd dated a Hufflepuff for a few months, and Charlie had watched that curiously from afar. It hadn't lasted long. When he did bump into her, he'd liked to tease. Sometimes it only took her name, and he'd watched delighted as the flush had spread over her cheeks.

He'd been leaving, so it's not as if he could have offered anything but a good snog. And he'd teased her too much for her to go for it. It seemed like that last item on the list would remain there indefinitely, or at least, until he forgot about it.

So, when he'd bumped into her, an hour before he had to leave, he hadn't quite known what to say.

She'd slowed down in the middle of the hallway, on her way to her next class. She'd frowned just a little, and Charlie could tell she hesitated. Rowan finally stopped before him.

 _My brother told me you're leaving_. She'd said.

 _I am_. He'd replied.

She'd nodded. _Good luck then._

And that was that.

He hadn't thought about her since then. Not really. A stray thought here and there, once when Geralt had popped up on the news, something about him getting called up by the Falmouth Falcons. He'd been too busy these last few years. He'd been enjoying himself too much. Charlie has forgotten about that last item on his list.

It all came hurtling back now. The timing, however, was terrible.

It wasn't a social call, after all. He was here because someone was hurting his dragons, and that wouldn't do at all.

And the Ollivanders might just be what they needed.

He wasn't quite sure when it had all started. The dragon keepers had only just begun to notice about three months ago, and it had taken them a while to put the pieces together. First it had just been a few owls, other dragon keepers all over Europe saying their dragons had gone off the grid, that they couldn't track them, to please let them know if they saw them. Charlie remembered getting that third owl and joking that maybe they should upgrade their gear. The dragons were getting smarter.

Then one of _his_ dragons had gone missing. A Romanian Longhorn he'd started calling Daisy. Daisy was a young dragon, one who'd gotten into a fight with a much larger Longhorn and had injured her wing. Charlie had kept close tabs on her, making sure the wing healed like it supposed to.

It hadn't been the gear. Charlie hadn't been outwitted by the injured dragon, she'd just barely been able to stretch her wing, much less fly. Something was wrong.

And that was only the beginning. The black market had exploded with dragon wares. Everything from scaled armour to dragon hearts. Rumours of caged dragon fights and illegal rings reached the reservation's ears.

Somebody out there was rounding up dragons and making quite a profit.

The Ministry of Magic had been no help at all. They had 'needed more proof,' they 'couldn't just send their Aurors off on a brim', and 'Dragons could surely handle themselves."

To say Charlie was frustrated was an understatement. Couldn't the Ministry spare _one_ Auror? Were they _all_ hunting down Sirius Black?

Charlie wished Tonks had completed her training already. He knew she'd help. But for now, the dragon keepers were on their own, with no idea where to even begin.

That is, until his mother's owl had arrived.

The Ollivanders has become their one lead, and Charlie was tasked to follow it, to see where it lead. He just needed to gather enough evidence to take it to the Ministry once more. No more, no less. He was great at dealing with dragons, but he wasn't dumb enough to deal with a group of poachers on his own.

The Ollivanders were the perfect cover. They were well known for their wands, and everyone knew they worked with dragon heartstrings. For anyone pretending to be proper dragon tradesman, they were the perfect customers.

Garrick Ollivander cleared his throat, and Charlie dragged his gaze back to the old man. If he squinted, maybe from an angle, he would remind Charlie of Geralt. He looked nothing like Rowan, however, and Charlie imagined she probably took after her mother.

He'd never met the man before. Unlike his older brother, the only Weasley boy to get a proper new wand on his eleventh birthday, Charlie had been passed on a wand. He'd never bothered on finding out exactly whose it had been, and it had never particularly bothered him enough to find out. A wand was a wand, and as long as it served his purpose, Charlie wouldn't mind if it was unicorn, phoenix, kelpie or snallygaster.

"I think we might be able to help each other," Charlie said. "If you could just walk me through what you told my mother?"

Garrick's stare took on a different weight, and Charlie had the sudden impression the man was considering his worth. Charlie had stared down many a dragon those last few years, and he'd found that not much intimidated him anymore. But Garrick Ollivander's stare almost rivalled his mother's. And as any Weasley kid could attest to, few things were as absolutely terrifying as one Molly Weasley.

Though Garrick seemed far from impressed, whatever he saw in Charlie seemed enough. He motioned Charlie to follow him, and they made their way to the shop's workshop. After a moment, Rowan's light footsteps followed, and Charlie fought the urge for a glance.

The smell reached him first, but Charlie didn't let his steps falter. Garrick stopped in front of what was probably his working desk. With a wordless glance over his shoulder, the wandmaker stepped to a side and let Charlie through. Charlie's heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the sight.

"Bloody hell."

* * *

The smell had gotten worse, and Rowan fought the urge to cover her nose with a hand. Instead, she focused on breathing as quietly as she could through her mouth.

Her father told Charlie about the last few months. Of how their supplier, an old man who worked up in Scotland, had more or less disappeared. Shipments stopped arriving. The owls came back, empty clawed. Just as Garrick had started to worry about their stock, especially with the new school year coming up, a new owl had arrived, and with it, an offer for a new partnership.

"A lot cheaper as well," Garrick added. "That should've tipped me off. Didn't have much of a choice, however."

And he really hadn't. Garrick had his network of people, one he was very particular about. Rowan couldn't blame him – when it came to magical creatures, complicated was too easy a word. Unicorn hair had to be plucked from live, wild unicorns. Phoenix feathers had to offered by the very creatures. And while dragon hearts had to come from dead beasts, the magic had to be pure – that meant healthy, untainted dragons, who'd died from as natural cause as a dragon's could get. The older, the better.

Clearly the mess before them didn't fit the bill. The poachers undoubtedly did not know the difference, or they would have never offered the product to the Ollivanders.

"Do you know where they're sending their owls from?" Charlie asked.

Garrick shook his head.

Rowan wondered what they would do if they didn't manage to fix this mess. That is, if the dragon keepers couldn't fix it. Her father would never replace the wand core with another creatures'. She wouldn't either. The magical properties from their three chosen wand cores were unmatchable. Their competition liked to preach otherwise, but they didn't have what the Ollivanders had – the touch. It would just have to be unicorn and phoenix; at least, until they found a way to fix all of this.

Charlie was frowning down at the mess before him. He finally cleared his throat. "Would you mind if we continued this conversation back in the shop?"

Garrick and Rowan trailed after the red-headed man, leaving the foul smell behind. Rowan ran her eyes over Charlie, trying to read his energy much as she would if she were searching for a wand that would fit him. She couldn't decide if he was disgusted, excited, or tense. Could be all three.

Rowan admitted she had a hard time reading him anyway. She couldn't even decide if he was a unicorn hair or a dragon heartstring man, something she could usually do from a glance. She frowned, unsettled.

The light outside the shop was all but gone now. Charlie turned back around to face them, the warm color of the lamps reflecting off his hair, making it look closer to fire than not.

"I'm going to need your help, Sir," he said, looking at her father. "I need you to send them another owl, and I need you to tell them that you're interested in making this partnership more permanent."

Beside her, Garrick crossed his arms, shifting his weight so he rested on his better leg. Rowan could tell right away that this wouldn't go Charlie's way.

But Charlie didn't know that. "But I need you to ask them to meet with you. Once I figure out who they are, where they're based, we can bring in the aurors. I just need enough information so they'll take this on."

"Just a meeting?" Garrick asked.

Rowan shot her father a look.

Charlie nodded, describe his face. "That's all I need."

Garrick uncrossed his arms. "I'd have to come with you?"

Charlie nodded.

Rowan gaped. "You can't!" she said. "Mum said she was going to have your hip checked."

Garrick frowned. "Rowan- "

"You scheduled a trip to the McKenna's tree farm yesterday, and you know how they get when we cancel,"

"I'm sure under the circumstances they'd- "

"It's your wedding anniversary with mum this weekend."

A pause. Rowan watched her father, knowing if that didn't stop him, nothing else would.

It's not that Rowan didn't trust her father to deal with dragon poachers. Few knew their wands as well as Garrick knew his, and Rowan knew that made him an accomplished wizard. However… well, her father just wasn't as young as he used to be, and she just didn't want him near any poachers, of any kind.

Her father finally shook his head. "If we don't do this- "

"Gadea could come instead, if you'd find it easier."

Abrupt silence settled between the three of them at Charlie's words. Rowan's own words got stuck somewhere around her throat as she stared at the dragon keeper. He looked back, his eyes steady and crinkled just slightly at the edges.

Like a damn breaking open, Rowan's thoughts burst open and flooded her mind. _Leave the shop? Track poachers? Look for dragons? Leave the shop?_

"No way," Rowan said, though it came out more of a croak.

"Why not?" Garrick asked.

Rowan swiveled around. "What do you mean _why not?_ "

Garrick's eyebrows rose. "Why not?"

"You're well known as Garrick's daughter," Charlie said. "You know what you need to know in case we need to bluff our way through. You won't be in any harm's way – it'll just be a quick meeting if they even agree to it. And," Charlie's lips curved up. "You'll have me looking out for you."

Rowan's eyes snapped from Charlie to her father, and back again. Once again, words seemed to fail her.

She finally settled back on her father. She knew that glint in his eyes.

 _Bloody Merlin,_ she thought. _The poachers better say no._

* * *

 **September 1st, 1993**

The owl came back the next day.

The poacher, one Arlo Barnes, wanted to meet on the sixth of the very month. The address was scribbled down right after that. A town Rowan had never heard of before, somewhere in Wales.

About an hour after that, the Weasley's owl brought them their second message of the day.

 _We leave tomorrow. Pack light._

 _-C_

Bloody Merlin.


	3. Chapter 3

_It's been over a year. Oops. But at least quarantine has been doing wonders for my writing._

 _Stay safe everyone! And I hope you enjoy this one :)_

* * *

 **September 2nd, 1993**

That morning, Garrick watched his daughter mope around the shop. She shuffled from stack to stack, and had he not known exactly what she was thinking about, the look on her face would have eventually unnerved him.

Instead, it amused him.

Rowan was ready. She was packed, she'd said her goodbyes to her mum, and as of five minutes ago, she was already late. She kept coming up with excuse after excuse, and Garrick was starting to grow weary.

"Rowan-"

"I don't think there's enough money in the till," she said.

Garrick let out a sigh. "You know there is. You're already late-"

"These cases need to be dusted, and I know you can't really reach the-"

"Rowan," Garrick took Rowan by the shoulders, and waited until she met his eyes. "You're going to be fine. This is an adventure, and you're going to enjoy yourself. Alright?"

Rowan gaped at him. " _Da'._ You're sending me off to meet _dragon poachers,_ you do realize that?"

He did. But he also knew that Rowan was perfectly able to defend herself. And she wasn't alone.

He knew that the moment he gave Rowan his shop, that would be it for his daughter. He knew her well enough to know that she'd live out the rest of her life dedicating her every waking moment to Ollivander's. She'd be content – she loved the store well enough. But Garrick saw this as his last chance to teach his daughter something he should've long ago. She needed some adventure, some unknown, and maybe even a little bit of danger.

He knew exactly what was running through her head. Rowan reminded Garrick of himself back before he met his wife. Before Arlene, Garrick had never quite imagined a world outside the shop either. Perhaps all Rowan needed were some dragons to nudge her along.

 _And a handsome young man,_ Arlene had teased. But Garrick wasn't that worried on that front. After all, it was a Weasley. And Rowan was much too sensible.

Garrick smiled at his daughter. "Think of it as a final test. The shop's all yours when you get back."

That did it, much as he knew it would. Rowan's shoulders sagged underneath his hands. "Alright."

With a final hug, his daughter walked out the door, a bag slung across her body and hands deep in her pockets.

Garrick watcher her go. The floor underneath his shoes shuddered one last time, and with it, the wave of magic that had permeated the air inside the shop for the last few days finally dissipated.

A frown tugged at Garrick's lips. He hadn't quite realized just how strong the magic had pulsed inside Ollivander's until it was gone. Change was in motion, and it followed Rowan around like a well-trained mutt.

* * *

Rowan wasn't too sure what to make of the building before her. It was three storeys tall and fit together like mismatched pieces of three entirely different puzzles – which shouldn't have surprised her, as she was still in Diagon Alley, but it somehow still tickled. The ground floor, built out of light wood with large open windows, read _Sal's Hair and Tail Salon._ The wood gave in into a much grubbier version as it reached the first floor. Two grimy looking windows peeked out, and _Remigio's Real Estate and Rabbits_ read in small cursive between them.

Rowan zeroed in on the second floor and her destination. _The Drafty Dragon_ seemed smaller than the first two floors. A charm was cast over the name, written in long red letters, and a smoky red sleeping beast draped over the last word. It snorted in its sleep, a small cloud of smoke curling out of its nostrils.

Rowan fought down a shiver and hoped that, whatever the next few days would bring, she wouldn't actually have to face a proper dragon.

She made her way up the building, edging past a witch coming out of _Sal's_ , her hair bouncing in neatly arranged curls, and her owl, the feathers trimmed and dipped in what appeared to be golden glitter. Rowan heard shouts coming out of the office behind the door of the next floor, which she chose to ignore, and finally reached the door of the last. A sign on the door read _No flammables allowed past this point,_ and Rowan shot it a wary glance before edging past the already open doorway.

The room was smaller than expected, considering it took most of the entire floor. The main feature of the space was the cluttered desk placed squarely in the middle – long, made out of dark wood, with legs resembling dragon legs and curled claws. A fire crackled in the hearth of a surprisingly ornate fireplace, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books and file cabinets.

A blonde witch somewhere around Rowan's age sat behind the formidable desk, leaning forward and smiling up at the room's second occupant – one Charlie Weasley. He said something, Rowan didn't catch just what, and the girl burst out in husky laughter.

The redheaded man in question sat on the edge of the desk, his back to the door and arms crossed across his chest. Rowan could just see his profile from where she stood, teeth flashing as he smiled. Smoke curled between the two of them, and Rowan followed it down to its source: a cigarette. Charlie clutched it loosely between his fingers, and he seemed to have temporarily forgotten it as he entertained the witch.

Rowan glanced quickly past the two, scanning the odd wall at the far back. It was filled with shiny doorknobs, dainty scribbles placed in little plaques beneath naming them. At the very top of the wall, in slightly larger letters, read: _The Drafty Dragon – the hub of the dragon community. Dragonologists and enthusiasts welcome._

Rowan closed the door behind her, irreversibly attracting the attention of the two occupants inside.

"Welcome to the Drafty Dragon!" The witch said, a smile drew across her lips and Rowan couldn't help but feel it sincere. "You must be Charlie's friend."

Friend was stretching it out a bit. Rowan looked to Charlie, but he only brought his cigarette back to his lips and inhaled, eyes inscrutable as he turned to look at her. Rowan shuffled in place, suddenly feeling quite vexed. They'd never been close back in school, but she felt like she didn't know the man in front of her at all. She imagined he was waiting for an apology - she was, after all, half an hour late. When she opened her mouth, however, she found herself avoiding the pretense altogether.

"What is this place?" She asked instead.

The receptionist smiled. "I assume this is your first foray into dragonology?"

Rowan found herself smiling back. The receptionist seemed friendly enough. A nice, even buzz of magic trailed behind her, and Rowan couldn't help but think that Unicorn Hair would fit her best. "I suppose you could call it that."

"I see. Well the Drafty Dragon is but one of the many meeting places for dragonologists from all over the world. We house the necessary travel arrangements to move between sanctuaries and offices. And of course, we provide a wide arrange of information and tools for anyone interested in learning more or looking to contact anyone in the field."

Rowan hummed her interest – she hadn't known anything as such even existed. She wanted to enquiry further - she was studiously avoiding Charlie's fixed stare, and she figured the longer she dragged on the conversation, the longer she had to find her wits. Rowan found herself not knowing how to behave, and if there was one thing Rowan Ollivander hated above all else, it was feeling out of her depth.

She was, however, distracted by the sound of rather sudden rattling coming of the witch's desk.

"It seems Francis is awake," the receptionist shot Rowan a wry smile. "Anything flammable on your person?"

Rowan didn't quite know what to say. She figured her hair was definitely flammable, but she didn't think she had to point that out. Charlie finally moved, straightening up and leaving the desk altogether as he reached for his wand.

" _Ignis integumentum,"_ he said.

Rowan felt the warm rush of Charlie's magic settle over her like a warm blanket. The witch opened one of the drawers, and the smell of smoke and soot reached Rowan only a moment before the small beast exploded into the air.

It was so sudden Rowan took a step back. Wings much like a bat's flapped the air, a tail almost as long as its body flipping about and scattering sparks of flame across the room. Its long snout snapped open, and with sudden determination, it made its best effort at a roar. Thankfully Francis wasn't big enough, and although not cute in any manner, the ineffectual sound coming from its jaws relaxed Rowan just enough that she didn't run off straight away.

Without sparing any of the room's occupants a look, the beast flew to the room's corner, settling on a perch Rowan had failed to notice in her earlier perusal. Rowan couldn't take its eyes off the creature, or the sparks dripping from its tail.

"Is that a-"

"No," Charlie said slowly, shaking his head. "It's a firedrake. Often confused with dragon hatchlings, but it is its own species altogether. See how the sparks are coming from the tail?"

Francis the firedrake squawked from its corner. Rowan wasn't quite sure if she wanted a closer look or to leave the room altogether. She was, however, quite conscious of Charlie's eyes on her person, and knew running wasn't an option. She straightened up and met his stare.

* * *

Charlie had quite the sudden revelation as Rowan's pale eyes met his.

He wasn't sure what had come over him back at Ollivander's. One second, he was wondering what it would take to convince Garrick, the next, he was asking Rowan to join instead. Which wouldn't be at all bad, he supposed, except it was particularly obvious she did not want to have anything to do with dragons.

Charlie supposed that was perfectly normal for most witches and wizards. He'd always had difficulty grasping the concept, however. He tended to act first, think later. And nothing could quite stop him from sniffing out adventure.

From the way Rowan had stared wide-eyed at Francis, Charlie wasn't quite sure what she'd make of a proper, adult dragon. She hadn't run yet, which he found encouraging. And she was curious enough. Maybe all she needed was a proper instructor. Somebody to show her exactly why his heart pounded and his fingers prickled at the very thought of adventure.

 _And that someone could very well be him_ , he thought wryly.

His mother had always said Charlie and Bill were to blame for Fred and George's wayward attitudes. And he supposed _some_ of it could very well be true. They had encouraged them in their youth, after all. But the twins had long surpassed their older siblings and left them way back in the dust. Charlie didn't have quite as high expectations for Rowan, but if his mother's theory about him encouraging trouble was true, maybe he could convince her to loosen up a little, maybe even enjoy herself.

Charlie only wished he could show her proper adventure. After all, a quick, sketchy meeting with a poacher wasn't exactly what he'd call enjoyable. Especially not for a first-time incursion into dragonology. He wished he could take her flying – few things would ever compare to sharing the sky with a dragon whilst riding a broom.

Then again, maybe not. He knew very few people who'd enjoy dodging giant bursts of flame as much as he did.

He took one last pull of the cig, savouring the sweet smoke before exhaling and getting rid of the stub. He'd picked up the habit in Romania. Caleb, one of his colleagues, had come up with an inhalable and recreational version of the draught of peace. Which meant it had enough crushed moonstone and hellebore to settle the nerves for a moment. It was more of a habit than anything else – he supposed he'd drop it when he finished them. As it was at the moment, he still had quite a few of them.

Rowan's eyes had drifted back to the firedrake. Charlie turned back to Victoria, who was fussing around her desk and looking for treats for the sparking creature, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.

He didn't get to see Victoria nearly enough. The few times he'd managed to come back to London, he'd spent most of the time with his family. When he did manage to find enough time to see his mates, she was caught up with work and her own relationships. Charlie promised himself he would stop by before he headed off to Romania once again.

"Right," he said, "Thanks for the company Tori, but we should probably head out. Point me to the door?"

Having found a strip of dried meat, Victoria flung it in Francis's direction. The firedrake caught it mid-air, and promptly swallowed It in one smooth gulp.

"We've been practising that," she said, smiling. "Number twelve, somewhere in the middle of the second row."

Charlie made his way to the back of the office and the wall of portkeys. He scanned the cards, looking for- there it was.

Twelve _\- Y Mynydd Gwyrdd_ _,_ Welsh Dragon Sanctuary

He looked back at Rowan and offered his hand. "No turning back now. You ready?"

She was looking at his hand almost as warily as she'd first observed Francis, Charlie noted. She furrowed her brow, and her pale eyes drilled into Charlie so intensely that for a breathless moment he saw his plan crumble before his eyes.

Then she let out a breath, and with it, Charlie watched her face melt into tired resignation.

"Oh, very well," she finally said, placing her hand in his. "Let's get this over with."

Charlie grinned. "That's the spirit."

Then he gripped the portkey.

* * *

The journey through the portkey went as any experienced witch or wizard should expect.

That is to say, absolutely ghastly.

Nausea and dizziness ensued, and Rowan found herself gripping Charlie's shoulder as she tried to find her bearings. She detested portkeys. She thought she would throw up.

 _What a fitting way to start the trip,_ she thought as her stomach convulsed. She stared straight down, barely making out her shoes through the darkness. Wherever she was, it was dark, and it was hampered.

Thankfully the nausea abated before she could make a mess of herself, and she eventually managed to straighten up. She let go of Charlie, somewhat awkwardly -his shoulders were surprisingly broad, - and squinted to get a good look at her surroundings.

"Is this a-" she paused, searching for the word as her eyes skipped over the equipment crowding them in. "A shed?"

Charlie still sounded out of breath. "I think so."

With a push of Charlie's hand, the wooden door creaked open and the soft, muted light of what could only promise to be a cloudy day cut through the dark. Rowan stumbled out of the shed after Charlie, and she breathed in the fresh air as she took in her surroundings.

She was faced with the back of another building. The barely standing structure they'd just exited must have been placed on the edge of the settlement, almost like an afterthought. A well-trodden path let from the shed and gripped the side of the building, leading to who-knew-where. The air was mountain crisp, and for a brief moment Rowan let herself feel the buzzing unfamiliarity that came from being in an entirely new place.

Then she heard the roar.

No dramatic scenes followed. Birds didn't take into flight in sudden terror. The ground didn't tremble. Charlie, who'd just walked around her and was now ambling down the path, didn't falter. It simply echoed into oblivion.

It occurred to Rowan, almost as a string of afterthoughts, that there probably weren't any birds anywhere near the reservation – it was safe to assume that any remotely clever creature would stay well away from an encampment surely filled with fire-breathing, carnivorous beasts. She realised she wasn't sure just how big a creature should be – or how close – for the ground to actually tremble beneath her feet. And finally, she supposed that a dragon's roar could very well be Charlie's version of the sound of a new customer walking into the shop.

But the roar was still a dragon's roar, and Rowan found her feet rooted in place as she watched her companion stride in its very direction. She would follow, she knew. Rowan just needed a moment to convince her feet to do so.

"Come along, 'Dea." Charlie said over his shoulder, "We've got places to be."

 _'Dea?_ Rowan thought, horrified. _Merlin's knickers, it's evolving._

But it worked just as Rowan imagined Charlie had intended it to. The ground let go of her feet. She caught up to him.

Rowan watched the scenery develop beneath them as they rounded the building. Green hills and mountains softly moulded the Welsh backdrop, surrounding a sparkling, still lake. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, teasing the mountain tops and hinting at rain. Rowan couldn't help a second gulp of air, just realizing this was her first time out of the city in… well, she couldn't even remember how long.

Other than the building behind them, the landscape offered no peek into the magical settlement she knew awaited. But magic teased the corner of her eye, and Rowan figured whatever lay before them was expertly hidden from muggles and unsuspecting wizards alike.

Someone cleared his throat and both Rowan and Charlie spun in place, facing once again the old building they'd just rounded. A pale man sat on its front steps. He was fiddling with his wand, eyes flickering between the two of them.

"Charles Weasley?" he inquired, climbing to his feet.

Charlie nodded as he moved to shake the man's hand. "You must be Collin O'Faire. This is Rowan Ollivander."

Collin's eyes flickered in her direction, either oblivious to Charlie's offer or disregarding it completely. "You're late," he said.

Charlie's eyebrows twitched as he slowly dropped his hand. He shot Rowan a look. "Apologies. We had a bit of a delay back in London."

Well, Rowan wasn't about to apologise now. Especially as Collin's frown deepened.

"Schaffer said you would Apparate us to Llif Mêl," Charlie continued.

Collin nodded.

Another roar echoed through the valley, this time much further away. Whatever dragon awaited below them was quickly moving away, to Rowan's relief. She watched Collin's eyes stray to the valley and remain. Rowan figured he could see whatever it was that the magical blanket hid from her own eyes.

"Don't be startled," the Welsh warned, squinting at the sky.

Neither Rowan nor Charlie had time to ask. Brooms appeared out of nowhere, low enough that Rowan's hair ruffled in place. She figured they were probably just standing right at the edge of the concealing spell. She watched two witches and one wizard fly past them, head low and leaning forward for speed. They were in a hurry.

Rowan peeked at Charlie, who was frowning up at the sky, squinting in the direction of the brooms.

"Is there a problem?" He asked.

The man hesitated, shooting Rowan a quick glance. But whatever misgivings he had with sharing his problems with a stranger were quickly disregarded as another broom sped by.

"One of our younger dragons was just reported missing," Collin said. "But his mate is still active. We're following her tracker, see if she can lead us to him. Maybe, well, if we're lucky, we'll even get the bastards who're taking them."

The man turned to look at them once again. The twist of his mouth and his eyes said it all – he thought they could take of it on their own. Why Charlie and Rowan needed to be involved was beyond him, which Rowan found herself tentatively agreeing with.

Collin tapped his wand repeatedly against his other hand. He clearly wanted to get the welcoming committee charade over and done with.

But Charlie wasn't ready to go yet. "You don't sound too confident."

Collin shrugged. "She's a Welsh, but still young and frantically searching for her mate. She'll be too fast for us."

Charlie snorted. "Tell me about it."

Aware she was missing some dragon-keeping joke about the poor state of the brooms of the dragon keeping community, Rowan watched the joke go right over Collin's head as well. Either the stress was getting too much for him, or humour was not this man's forte.

"You're to send us an owl in case you need anything," Collin said. "And we were told that in that particular case to expect it from one Mr. Harrington, will that be the last name you'll be using?"

Charlie nodded.

Collin nodded holding out his arms once more. "Ready to depart?"

Rowan figured there really was no turning back now. With one last glance at the lovely scenery before her, she and Charlie each grabbed one arm.

The air around them _cracked,_ and they landed on a cobbled street. The rain had just started to fall, and Rowan felt the cold wetness upon the crown of her head. Collin ushered them to the sidewalk, and they ducked beneath the overhang roof of a bakery.

"Miss Ollivander, Mr. Harrington," he said with a meaningful glance in Charlie's direction. "Welcome to Llif Mêl, you'll find the inn just down the road. Enjoy your stay."

With another crack, Charlie and Rowan were left alone once again.

Charlie glanced at her, the edges of his mouth twitching into a grin. "Charming man."

Rowan snorted in agreement.

They made their way towards the inn, hopping over the rapidly forming puddles and ducking beneath what cover they could find. The street was mostly empty, but Rowan figured that had to do more with the rain than anything else. She found the place to be oddly charming, even with the dreary weather. The houses and shops were made of stone, colourful signs advertising their wares and flowers adorning their windows. The streets were lit by lovely old-fashioned lamplights that lit their way. Her father had informed Rowan the night before that the vast majority of Llif Mêl's population was of the magical variety, with the few unsuspecting muggles and tourists sprinkled about.

Rowan could just see a small plaza at the end of the street. The sound of the rain dissolved into the fountain's gurgle. Just behind it, a stone tower rose above the plaza, a clock's face proclaiming it to be almost dinner time.

The Erlking Inn's windows offered a cosy view into their new lodgings. They stumbled inside, and Rowan noticed a slow working drying and heating spell immediately get to work on their hair and clothes. She figured the muggles would blame it on a fantastic heater.

The woman behind the counter looked up, dark eyes peering behind rounded spectacles. Her eyes swept their forms from head to toe in a quick perusal, before crinkling into a warm smile.

"Ah Merlin, you just caught the rain," she said, leaning forward over the welcoming desk. "Give it a minute. You'll be warm in no time."

Charlie's smile was blinding. "Cheers, Ms.- ah-"

"Mrs. Vaughn. But call me Mary. You must be Mr. Harrington, we have your reservation. And you," she swivelled in Rowan's direction. "You must be Ms. Ollivander!"

Rowan coughed awkwardly as they approached the counter, "I am."

Mary's hands grasped hers, and Rowan found herself surprised at their roughness. Life as an innkeeper must be tougher than it seemed.

"I've heard so much about your family. Never been to your shop, me, but my nephew! Got his wand a couple o' years ago, he did. He spent about a month talking nonstop about wands and your father and whatnot. Found your little place absolutely divine."

A bubble of warmth spread across Rowan's chest. "He did? I'm glad. I must have missed him; I was probably still in school."

"Probably, yes. He would have been smitten with you, no doubt about it. Such lovely eyes."

Rowan looked away, embarrassed, and caught Charlie's eyes. He was watching the exchange, eyes crinkling with humour. She looked away.

The door to the inn creaked open, and a new figure filled in the doorway. Rowan craned her head up, surprised at his size. He was astonishingly tall. A rough beard lined his jaw, and a low hat dripping with water sat low on his head.

"Oh Paul, you should've used the back entrance," Mary _tsked._ "You're going to get everything wet."

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

Paul took off his hat, his blue eyes finding Rowan's immediately. She shuffled in place, uncomfortable with the cold intensity of his stare.

"This is my husband," Mary was saying. "If you need anything around here, just ask. He'll be glad to help out."

"Pleasure," Charlie said.

The other man barely paid him a glance. "I'll be at the back," he mumbled, ducking his large frame into an open doorway behind the inn's counter.

Mary watched him go before turning to look back at the two of them. "Come along darlings, I believe you reserved two rooms on the first floor."

Charlie stopped them before they could move. "Actually, Mrs. Vaughn- Mary. There might have been a mistake when we booked with you. We'll just need the one room please." Charlie turned to look at Rowan. "Right, Rowan, love?"

 _Rowan?_ He'd _never_ called her by her first name. _Love_?

And most importantly, _one room?_

"Actually-"

Her hand was suddenly in Charlie's. Years of working outside with dragons had made it rough. But it was warm, and so much bigger than Rowan's. It all surprised her enough that she simply drifted off, haven't really said a thing.

If Charlie noticed Rowan's dumbfounded expression, he didn't let on. He sent Mary one of those smiles, one Rowan suddenly wasn't entirely sure whether he learned it from the twins, or if maybe they got it from him.

Nevertheless, Mary didn't stand a chance. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she switched the keys she had for a different set. "Here we go then. And up we go!"

* * *

Charlie's head was spinning.

His limbs felt overly sluggish. Thoughts flitted through his head much too fast for him to even begin to comprehend. His palms started to sweat. What had he been thinking? He'd been so cavalier about this. That the reservation had pushed this plan along said a lot about how desperate they were. And now he found himself putting his mate's little sister at risk.

He took a breath.

Paul Vaughn. The innkeeper's husband. Charlie had seen him before.

The man was incredibly tall. Which, now that Charlie thought about it, really was a terrible attribute for a spy. It was, after all, the first thing Charlie had noticed about the scowling man back in Romania. It was also the first thing he'd noticed now.

They got visitors back at the Romanian Dragon Reservation every once in a while. Family members coming to visit, excursions done by interested witches and wizards, big deliveries, the occasional philanthropist. Charlie wasn't usually surprised when he bumped into strangers in his workplace, but he _did_ notice them. Especially tall men asking questions. Charlie had merely dismissed this particular man as a reporter.

Clearly, he wasn't. And Charlie didn't think it was a coincidence to find him here, of all places.

Did that mean Mary was in on it as well?

Charlie followed Rowan and Mary up the stairs, knowing if he wasn't careful enough, he could blow it. He just needed a moment to think. To explain to Rowan what was going on. That even though all he wanted that very second was to send her back to the warmth of her cosy wand shop, he needed her here. That the lives of countless dragons depended on her.

So, he followed in silence. Mary turned to them with a smile, saying something about how there was only one key, to please make sure to drop them off at the counter every time they left the inn. To please reach out if they needed anything, anything at all. Rowan had yet to say a thing – he wondered why she hadn't. Then she handed Charlie the key. He forced a smile, one of those charming ones that older ladies always seemed to like. Thanked her. And into the room he went.

If Mary was in on it – could he really trust the privacy of the room? He didn't think so. Would they be listening in?

Charlie reached for his wand.

* * *

Rowan followed Charlie in. The room was nice, with a large double bed and a door that Rowan figured led to an en-suite bathroom. There was a sofa against one of the walls, facing a small table filled with generic magazines. Lovely gauzy curtains partially covered windows facing the cobbled street.

The door closed behind them with a quiet click.

Rowan couldn't hold it in any longer. She didn't care he wasn't even looking at her. "What in the-"

Charlie turned in place, eyes wide as he _shushed_ her with a wave of his hand. "Really, love, you should get some sleep. You look absolutely knackered."

Rowan was pretty sure she was beginning to turn red. "I'm not-"

"We've had an entire day of travel. And what with the rain-"

Really, with the way Rowan was glaring at him, Charlie should have been shaking in his dragon keeping boots. " _Charles_ -"

He stepped closer. "Always so stubborn," he said. He was staring down at her, in what she could only call a particularly meaningful way. She just didn't get _why._

Rowan found herself thinking he smelled nice, a particular earthy scent that she couldn't quite place, and she decided he really was standing way too close for her liking. She put a hand on his shoulder, intent on pushing him away and demanding an answer once and for all, when he did the most particular thing. He placed a hand on her jaw, cradling it, a callused thumb resting on her lips and rendering her, well, speechless.

She blinked, finding herself perfectly derailed by the closeness of the blue in his eyes.

"A moment, love." He murmured. His other hand waved his wand, the curtains flicking closed. " _Muffliato_ ," he said. Magic coated the room, leaving them in a small cocoon of sound.

He was looking down at her, his hand still cradling her face, a slight smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Go on then, 'Dea. You can yell at me now."

Energy flooded her system as she was reminded exactly where she was and what she'd been about to do. She shoved Charlie's shoulder, and he stumbled back a step, his hands sliding from her face.

"What in the _bloody_ hell, Weasley?"

A smile still teased his lips as he looked at her, and hell if it didn't irk her even more.

"The man, from downstairs," he said, smile faltering. "Paul. I remember him. He was sniffing around the Romanian Sanctuary. I think he may be involved with the poachers. There's no way this is a coincidence. And I can't be sure Mary isn't in on it as well."

Rowan gaped at him.

Charlie ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. With a tired sigh he sat on the edge of the bed and peered up a Rowan, his hair now askew. She wasn't sure if the stress and exhaustion had finally caught up to him, or if she was just noticing for the first time.

"I'm sorry," he said. "About the room. It made sense, at the moment. Thought it'd be easier to watch each other's backs if we're together. But I didn't think it through."

Rowan shook her head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. What exactly had she stumbled into? Her father had been so calm about sending her, she figured maybe she'd been exaggerating as to the danger. Looking at Charlie now, however, she thought maybe her dad was going senile.

But she was already here, and she figured she just had to get through these next couple of days and then she'd never leave the shop ever again. Never, ever again.

She let out a long sigh, knowing that for better or for worse she had to commit now. The faster they figured everything out, the faster she'd be back.

So, picking up a pillow and the top covers of the bed, she said, "Right. You're taking the sofa."

Charlie's lips twitched as he took the stuff out of Rowan's arms. "Right. Of course."

Rowan nodded, trying to dispel the sudden awkwardness she felt. It was ridiculous. They were two adults sharing the room. And he was sleeping on the couch, for Rowena's sake. Scandalous this was not.

They needed to talk this through. For her peace of mind, if anything else. She needed more information, and she needed it now; but not in the room. Maybe it wasn't that bad an idea – them staying together. She didn't feel quite as ease on her own anymore.

"Alright then, Weasley," she said. "I'm not going to sleep without some food first. Feel like going on a tiny adventure?"

A dangerous smile split Charlie's face, and Rowan found herself watching, half-fascinated, as his eyes lit up.

"Oh, _Dea_. That's the one thing you never have to ask."


End file.
